I hope this fandom isn't too dead to accept a new story about our favorite, fictional (not-actually) lesbians with an AU-setting in prohibition-era America and more... ;)
I took some liberties with timelines. I assumed Sarah is younger than Cora, and Cora is a bit younger than she should be, but nothing too drastic.
Obviously, this pieced has been spell- and grammar checked to the best of my abilities, however I cannot guarantee there are no mistakes in here. Feel free to point any out if you happen to encounter them!

Please enjoy!

-Minerva

Sarah felt as if Lady Luck had definitely left her the past week. She'd been fired from her latest job and hadn't managed to find anything new. Now she was just wandering through the streets of New York, looking for a shopkeeper or anyone who looked like they might need help. Even if it was only for a day, she really needed the money. She had given up on trying to find work as a seamstress, she had her aunt to thank for that. Nowadays anything went; selling newspaper, lifting crates, helping at the market, anything to fill her stomach and pay her rent. Not that she had any rent that needed paying now. With no job and no money to pay for this week's rent, she'd been thrown out together with what little possessions she had. At least she wasn't cold, Sarah was never cold. It was her only blessing really, the cold had never found her, not once in her life. Neither did the smell of smoke ever leave her hair, but that might rather be due to the fags she smoked, more than anything else. She had taken up smoking just before she left England, the smell was the last thing reminding her of home and her parents. The smell of Black Cats brought back memories of her father and the farm, sitting on the fence together with her brothers as they took a break from their work. She still missed them at times. Not long after she'd been send off to work for her aunt who was an established seamstress, she'd taken up smoking to feel less lonely. Her aunt hadn't liked it, said the distinct smell got into the clothes which bothered customers. Sarah knew she was right, even though she never smoked inside or even near the door. Even the cigarettes she had kept in a box in a storage cupboard, far away from the dresses. But no matter what, the smell had gotten into every piece of clothing she touched. She'd even stopped smoking for a few months in a failed attempt to exorcise the smell. Secretly she didn't mind, she revelled in it. It had offered her some solace and comfort in this foreign place. Her aunt had been less than happy with it. Eventually Sarah had been sweeping floors and cleaning the store, rather that work on the dresses. With her only solace taken from her, Sarah became more miserable than ever. The distinct air still clung to her, and at time she swore she saw some smoke circling from her hair. As it didn't seem to make a difference anyway, she took up smoking again and not longer after, her aunt fired her. She had remained to live with her whilst earning her own money, which eventually had let to unpleasantness she'd rather not think about ever again. Sarah had found her own little room and taken on whatever acceptable work that she could find. And here she was now, without room and without job. She was about to stop loitering and turn around and walk to some friends to see if some friends might let her stay the night when she noticed it.

Right there.

Up in the air.

Floating.

Golden sparkles that slowly pulsed in the air. No one around her seemed to notice the weird sparkles, all passerbys... well, they just passed by. Sarah slowly crept up on the sparks, making sure to keep her eyes on them at all times, somewhere she was afraid that they might disappear if she wouldn't. She extended her hand warily, her fingers tingling softly as she came closer. Just when Sarah thought her fingers would finally touch it, they disappeared and turned into a silvery, glittery smoke. The smoke circled her fingers, to eventually settle in the palm of her hand and solidify. As Sarah stared wide-eyes, a small paper appeared in her hand. On it were elegant letters in cursive, bearing an invitation to her? "Sarah Margaret O'Brien" Somehow the invitation had been addressed to her, it read:

"Dearest Miss Sarah Margaret O'Brien,

Hereby you have been cordially invited to our upcoming social at The Blind Phoenix this Friday. We hope to welcome you with open arms as one of our sisters during these troubled times. Please come in appropriate, but comfortable dress.
The evening will start 10 pm, but if you wish to join for our monthly dinner please arrive at 7 pm at the latest.

Our warmest regards,
The Blind Phoenix"

Attached at the bottom was a little map with a dot where the event was to be held, the address indicated was only a few blocks away. Curiosity won and soon Sarah was on her way, startled by the strange invitation and the even stranger way in which it had occurred. When she finally arrived, she saw nothing more than a small haberdasher. When she peeked through the window, she saw nothing in particular. Nothing that even hinted towards the fact that some fancy event was to be held here in a few days time. The store appeared to be closed at the moment with no one in. She carefully ventured 'round the back where she founds crates and boxed piled up near the backdoor. Normally she would have found it curious. From experience she knew this amount and size of boxes was quite abnormal for this type of business, but right now invitations solidifying out of smoke, floating golden sparkles and shady haberdashers were drawing in her attention. Sarah hesitatingly knocked on the backdoor, not sure whether or not she wanted it to open. After a long second she released the breath she'd been holding expectantly. When no one seemed to answer she knocked again, this time with more confidence. The only thing she had to lose were the meagre possessions in the small bag in her right hand; something she wouldn't let anyone take from her. After some rumbling and hastened steps, a rather tall lad opened the door. He raised an arrogant eyebrow while openly scrutinizing her hair, face, clothes and shoes. She realised she didn't look exactly shining and sparkling, but she always took great care for her clothes to be in an orderly state without any loose threads or buttons ajar. In the end she won the staring contest and he defiantly lowered his eyes. It would be quite a while until someone would win over Sarah O'Brien in a good old-fashioned staring contest. She decided for him to start speaking, it was this establishment that was spreading weird out-of-smoke-solidifying invitations after all.

"So, I presume you're 'ere for the job then."

Not exactly what she had expected. Not at all what she had expected. Somewhere she was bursting to know where the strange invitation came from, but the mention of a job was also more than welcome in her ears. Internally she struggled for a moment, her curiosity was wrangling her on the inside, but she needed a job. And if anything, Sarah O'Brien was, and would always be, a smart and ambitious woman. Jobs got her money, and money got her food, rent and fags. Golden sparkles did not.

"Yes. I am here for the job."

"Well, come on in then."

He edged the door open for her and motioned for her to follow him. They walked into a narrow corridor where she could see flecks of dust floating lazily in the air. In the cupboards she spied disorganized boxes of buttons, threads, pins, ribbons and more. She daresay that within a good day or two she could fix that, if they'd take her. It looked like no one had paid any serious attention to the boxes for ages, or to anything really. Suddenly the boy disappeared, then she saw a dark curtain hanging to a side. Behind it she found a pair of stair leading down. As she followed him her eyes quickly became accustomed to the light. They were in a dimly lighted corridor, the floor carpeted with soft, lush black velvet, the walls covered in grey wallpaper covered with intricate patterns, the crown moulding and baseboard painted golden, and the chair rail in a deep red. All in all, the place looked far too luxurious for a Northern farm girl from the other side of the pacific. At first she had been slightly surprised as to why a shady haberdasher had such a basement. But it had dawned on her soon enough: a speak-easy. Sure enough the lad eventually led her into a small parlour with a long bar in the corner, behind which cupboard full of bottles was placed. Behind the bar Sarah spotted a woman, taller than any other woman she had ever laid eyes on. The woman was willowy and of an elegance Sarah was convinced she'd never completely master. The tall woman seemed to have a few years on her, but couldn't be much older than her early thirties. In one of her gloved hands she held what appeared to be an inventory list, while the other was ghosting over the labels on several bottles and pots. She turned at the sound of Sarah and the boy entering and instantly shot them a broad smile.

"Lady Cora, ma'am."

Sarah felt her breath being knocked out of her.